Illusions
by beckett77
Summary: Jim has always been sure of himself, but what if a certain Vulcan isn't what he seems to be?
1. Chapter 1

Of one thing he was certain.

The universe could throw paradoxes, and time travel, and alternate realities at him all that it wanted and this truth would remain unchanged.

Spock was the most infuriating man alive. Maybe the most infuriating man alive _or dead_.

Jim was less sure on the dead part having never met someone of the ether. Though he did not preclude the possibility with the way things always seemed to go awry on the Enterprise.

They'd been in space for just under six months, and while his young crew performed admirably, with talent and deftness that practically made him glow and eased the doubts of the admiralty somewhat, there was no denying the space-crazy that manifested itself on even the most mundane of missions.

"Captain. It is inadvisable that you continue with your current course of action."

Jim gritted his teeth at the sound of Spock's clipped tones. That the damn guy sounded like a robot for nearly 80% of their conversations only further cemented his Infuriation Champion status.

The other 20% of Spock's tone when interacting with Jim was broken into three categories: Smug, Stupid Human - Didn't I Tell You Not to Do That, and I Am Restraining from Causing You Bodily Harm.

Bones insisted that the Vulcan remained firmly in Smug mode at all times, but Kirk was willing to give Spock credit for emotional elasticity. The captain gestured to his throat and wryly intoned, "He did, after all, display some in the Narada incident." McCoy remained unconvinced.

Jim wisely let the argument drop then, before it entered dangerous territory, because, while he would never admit it to his best friend and CMO, Jim had been watching Spock carefully for some time now, and found that the First Officer _really did_ express a lot of things through his body language. Generally things disagreeable or confusing to Jim, but it was expression nonetheless.

And he had agreed to come aboard as Jim's First Officer – which really was something when you considered that he had given up aiding the colonization effort of his people to do so.

The captain hoped that what Alternate Spock said about theirs being a great friendship would turn out to be true in his reality as well. Spock was fascinating to him and Jim honestly thought they had made some sort of understanding between them with the Nero thing, but besides the amazing fact of Spock's accepting commission, the progress of their friendship was little.

Now that he thought about it, Spock's joining his crew was probably more to do with the presence of beautiful, fierce Nyota Uhura, with whom he was engaged in a relationship, than anything else.

Jim knew what he would do to be with a woman of her caliber, and joining the crew of Starfleet's flagship, even under a man with whom he had little rapport, did not come close. And he was "commitment averse."

Why had he not considered this before? That Spock's presence was not some sort of testament to the potential connection between them?

It would definitely explain the half-Vulcan's almost complete lack of interest in Jim beyond command duties and random run-ins. The way he always seemed to analyze Kirk with a detached puzzlement in his eyes when they did interact. And why he questioned the captain's every decision, constantly quoting regulations at him, as he did now while they hurried to the transporter room.

Obviously his First Officer could drive him half mad with his near border-line insubordination and superior attitude, but Jim genuinely liked Spock. Trusted him even, and Jim Kirk's trust was a thing hard earned.

He liked to believe that Spock held the same regard for him; he thought of Spock's presence as proof, but this new line of thinking jarred Jim's closely held faith.

And served to substantially increase his irritation.

Strange that the mere thought of Spock truly being indifferent to him filled the human with equal parts despair and ire.

Perhaps he really should listen to Bones and rest; there was no telling what could happen to the Enterprise if her captain was so worn out that he became an emotional wreck over the First Officer's lack of interest in him.

It was truly a ridiculous thought and Jim clamped down a sudden irrational urge to laugh.

"You are not attending my words Captain."

The smooth voice hovered near the edge of "Bodily Harm" and Jim snapped out of it.

"Mr. Spock I am well aware of what you desire to say. You've done nothing but harangue me with your protocols and misgivings since I ordered the passengers beamed aboard. I too know the regulations and that I have not broken any of them-" Here the Vulcan made an involuntary noise of disbelief. Jim bared his teeth in what could have been called a grin. "I haven't broken any that are that important or that weren't mostly suggestions in the first place," he amended. "But the fact remains. That ship would have been destroyed by the meteor shower. Whatever reason they ran from us, I can't just let that crew die when it's in my power to save them."

"A most moving sentiment sir."

For a guy who prided himself on non-expression, Spock did sneering better than any other being Jim knew.

"As I brought to your attention 2.34 minutes ago, the desire to save the fugitives is not for what I fault you. Rather, it is your pursuit of that desire over the safety and security of this ship and Starfleet directive. One dilithium crystal shattered from your ordered maneuvers and another lost 68% of its functionality. I would again refer you to Addendum 1982.3, Section 528, Clause 4, if I thought you would heed it, but since I now know this to be in vain, I will instead appeal to your limited strategic logic."

Jim angrily opened his mouth, a retort on his tongue, but Spock continued to press, steamrolling his protest.

"We sit impaired, the nearest Starbase 120 light hours away, orbiting an inhospitable planet with a single mining settlement, no space dock that can accommodate the Enterprise, and four unknown, potential criminals soon to be aboard. Space does not follow formerly established relationship and action patterns since the Narada Incident. Being a Starfleet vessel no longer elicits the respectful response it did previously. We are open to any attack while we sit powerless, limping on impulse, shields operating at 40%."

The truth of Spock's words was already apparent to Jim, and had been since he'd ordered Scotty to bring the malfunctioning fleeing vessel inside their shields for transport. He knew that the move was chancy, but he couldn't condemn the people aboard to death. Jim firmly believed in his ability to find the elusive third option. He would repair his ship, the thing he loved above all else, and protect his crew, even if it meant his own death.

Not for the first time, he wished his second-in-command could see that.

Luckily they reached the transporter room just then and Jim was temporarily spared the necessity of replying to Spock's grim portrait of reality.

The Vulcan's full mouth closed to a thin line. He looked at the captain with a steely glint in his eyes that told Jim he was most certainly not finished with this discussion, though he was presently choosing to remain silent.

Jim appreciated the tirade's suspension. He turned from Spock and squared his shoulders, drawing himself to full height in the process, and entered the room to greet his Lady's newest passengers.

**

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**

Hello, I've never written a story to publish before, but I love this fandom and have been kicking around with an idea for months. Thank you for taking the time to read this. I really appreciate it, and hope that you liked it. :)


	2. Chapter 2

The captain strode into the transporter room, cloaked in the authority that sat better on his young shoulders with each passing day.

Close behind, the First Officer stepped with focused intent, a formidable column of black and blue, the impression complemented by his green tinted skin. From his purposeful energy and granite face, no one could have gathered that just a moment ago he was arguing with his captain.

They did not move as one, but their partnership was clear. Neither was a man to trifle with and neither would let the other fall.

Whatever the (lacking) state of their personal relationship, Kirk was glad for Spock's presence at his side. Reflexively, Jim looked at him again. The Vulcan gave a minute incline of his neck, acknowledging the unspoken need for reassurance.

Turning forward, Jim's eyes came to rest on the freshly materialized form on the transporter pad.

On it, stood a strangely dressed man; Jim could only think of his appearance as _foppish_, all puffy sleeved and tight pantsed glory. It was as though he'd taken to dressing like a character from a 20th century Shakespeare production. The captain barely contained a snicker.

_Oh man, Bones has __**got**__ to see this guy._

Jim looked at Spock again and instead of his typical stone-like façade, found a raised eyebrow in silent complicity.

Seeing Spock's reaction, he lost control of himself and his laughter pealed forth, coating the room in its mellifluous glow.

"Is the rest of me …er… crew goin' ta be joinin' us?"

That the man then opened his mouth and spoke in dramatic Irish brogue only increased the hilarity.

Spock's left brow was joined by its brother, but this one seemed more in response to his superior officer's unbecoming behavior. _We are still in a critical time_ they said.

Dear God, he must actually be exhausted if he was starting to hear things from Spock's _eyebrows._

Sucking in a deep, calming breath, Jim controlled his response. Right then, three more figures appeared.

Scotty, who'd come up from Engineering to personally man the transport, was transfixed, a silly smile plastered on his pale face, normally restless hands hanging slack from his wrists. The two male Ensigns in the booth were in little better shape, each sporting glazed looks and hanging jaws.

A trio of goddesses had appeared behind the fop. Their scent floated throughout the space, filling Jim's nostrils with the heady aroma of flowers under warm, open skies and an undercurrent of something exotic. It made him think of his Earth home and his mother's garden at the start of summer when the vegetation was at its deepest green. He'd always loved green. The exotic undercurrent called to him as well, but he couldn't exactly place its source, only that he found it incredibly attractive. The goddesses' smooth, pore-less skin seemed to glow, reflecting the light of the room back out, casting a radiance about them. Each was statuesque, shaped to perfect human proportions.

_They're like ancient Earth dolls, _foggily thought Jim's bludgeoned brain. _There's even one for each hair color; a blonde, a brunette, and a red head._

His reaction was not lost on Spock, who watched him with carefully guarded eyes.

_He's beautiful too_, Jim's brain helpfully supplied in its dreamy state.

Spock looked pointedly at him, locking Kirk's dilated gaze within his own.

The human felt like he was wrapped in space itself; dark, unknown, and terrifying to most people, but for Jim it was the shaping force of his life. Space had marked him at his birth, and it created his destiny. For all its dangers, it was still exhilarating, intoxicating. Jim loved space.

This truth came through the mist of his thoughts sharp and clear, a talisman.

And his mind abruptly touched back home.

His eyelids fluttered and he looked at Spock with refocused eyes. Jim's pulse gave a tiny lurch as his dream notions about the Vulcan came to his attention before he sent them skittering away to the back corners of his psyche where he hardly ever visited.

Seeing Kirk was alright, Spock stepped back. He had come close to the captain (within 10 centimeters to be exact) and the proximity made him uncomfortable for a variety of reasons.

"You are aboard the Federation Starship Enterprise. I am Captain Kirk, this is Commander Spock. Care to explain why you were running from a Starfleet vessel in an outdated, sub-code space vehicle into a meteor storm that would have killed you?"

Jim's voice was not unfriendly, but it brooked no argument, power behind every syllable.

The blond opened her mouth. Before words tumbled from her trembling, luscious lips, the man cut in smoothly. His voice was unctuous.

"You see Captain, I'm Leo Walsh, a free-lancin' ferry man. I was transporting these women ta their new settlements. Somewhere down on Rygell 12, aye?" He swiveled his head, looking at the women, who tremulously nodded. "I thought we could get through th' storm. Didn't want 'em ta be late. Transportin' is a serious business, somethin' a man like yerself surely knows all about."

Having an advanced degree in bullshit himself, Kirk didn't buy the story for a second.

"That elucidation still fails to account for your evasive actions. It does not provide rational reasoning for navigating into a storm, or for being without proper cargo transport clearance. Furthermore, I detect inconsistencies in your accent, particularly in your vowel pronunciation."

Jim was glad Spock wasn't buying it either. He flipped open his comm.

"Giotto, I'm going to need security in the transporter room."

* * *

It was a good thing Security had practiced emergency drills so often and so thoroughly that they could be to any part of the ship in minutes. The captain would never admit to it, but he was a magnet for trouble. Excessive drilling was just another precaution for life on the Enterprise.

It was even better that they'd been hovering near the beaming room, like moths drawn to a flame, since being alerted by the bridge crew that Captain Kirk was bringing potentially dangerous individuals aboard.

What was a bad thing was that all their training seemed to fly from their minds the second they got to the captain and were hit by the women's beauty. The four officers stopped inside the door, their senses shocked, as though being assaulted.

Kirk was considering the picked-up crew and didn't notice the men become affected.

"Gentlemen, I'm going to need our guests taken down to a holding cell so we can get to the bottom of this. Go ahead to oh, I think Cell Three ought to be good. Bring them refreshments and anything else we can reasonably accommodate them with right now."

The security detail did not stir.

Jim looked at them quizzically, taken aback by the lack of action from the red-shirted men. He wasn't used to his commands being ignored. But then he remembered the women (how could he have forgotten them in the first place?) and understood.

Spock however, gave the smallest shoulder movement, which could have been an aborted shrug, and repeated the captain's words in his sternest tones; or what Jim knew to be his sternest tones, though to someone less observant, it probably sounded like the slightest variation on his regular voice. If he didn't know better, Jim might think that Spock was avenging the disrespect he'd just received. A simultaneously flattering and mortifying thought.

"You will take these people to Holding Cell Three immediately."

Spock stood a meter from them now, having been advancing on their stilled shapes. As though his presence was a trigger, they began to move.

The men shook their heads, looking like they had emerged unwillingly from pleasant dreams, and moved sluggishly forward. They escorted the man and three women from the room. Jim was surprised by their slow, jerky movements. It had only taken one look from the half-Vulcan to get him going again, and Spock hadn't even been emitting waves of anger then like he was now.

Additionally, Jim did not like the satisfied, knowing look on Leo Walsh's face.

_Yeah, something is definitely going on here._

"Captain, this is most unusual. There is something amiss about Leo Walsh and his crew. Their data does not reach a truthful conclusion and they seem to have an adverse effect on you and the crew of which I cannot determine a cause."

Jim's eyes blinked exaggeratedly of their own accord. The Vulcan really didn't see?

"You can't determine the cause Mr. Spock? You're unaffected by our…passengers?"

"A correct summation of what I have just said Captain."

Huh. Well. For the first time, Kirk felt a little bad for Uhura. If the Vulcan really wasn't affected by physical beauty, she must have a hell of a time talking him into bed. Must be quite a departure from her past relationships. He suppressed a smile at the mental image of the headstrong Lieutenant trying and failing to get his First Officer to do her. (If he'd known how close he was to the truth, the captain might have laughed outright.)

So if Spock really didn't see what the problem was, Jim wasn't going to tell him. A little test of his actual indifference to beautiful women. And a bit of payback for all that regulation quoting.

"I'm sure your excellent mind will soon find the answer. In the meantime, let's look up Leo Walsh in the criminal database and see if we can restart Scotty's brain to get working on the crystal problem."

Spock still looked suspicious, if his narrowed eyes were anything to go by, but he helped Jim propel the stunned Scotsman into the corridor.

Jim sighed. Beta Shift hadn't even begun and he was already wading through space mysteries.

**

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****Hello again! I kinda love the free formness of writing at the bottom of these, so I'll probably be a nerd and do it. Again, thanks for taking the time to read this and I hoped you liked it.**

**And since I haven't done it yet... Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or anything wherein, especially not a certain episode of TOS that serves as the story template for this arc. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

The computer's artificial glow painted his desk in bluish light, highlighting his long fingers, casting shadow across the keyboard beneath their deft movements.

Starfleet Criminal Database filled the screen, the search menu located near the top. His fingers blurred, hurrying through the site. One name hunt later and the Irishman mugged from the computer.

Leo Walsh was one known alias of a certain Harcourt Mudd, who was the proud perpetrator of a multiple screen list of petty crimes going back decades. From the looks of it, Mudd was an inept criminal, prone to scheming and theft, usually bungled. Where his true talents manifested themselves was in the art of escape; through a combination of legal loopholes, plea bargaining, and mitigating circumstances, Mudd had gotten off almost every time.

Looking at his record brought to mind images of a reincarnated Houdini with a criminal bent.

Kirk whistled softly, leaning back, and resting his interlocked hands atop his head, ruffling his hair. The movement of wet air between his lips broke the concentration of the Vulcan reading over his shoulder, whose eyes flickered to Jim's mouth for a heartbeat before training on the screen again.

They sat crowded at Jim's computer desk in the corner of his quarters. For the sake of efficiency, Spock had agreed to come with Kirk to the captain's personal terminal, where they could more easily access Starfleet records, since the men wouldn't have to go through, "a bunch of authentication and verification bullshit because it already recognizes my clearance for classified information."

Spock's proximity did not make Jim uncomfortable, exactly. Rather, it was too comfortable for his, well, _comfort. _Soft waves of heat rolled from the Vulcan warming his side, and his even, slow breathing tickled gently on Jim's neck. Sitting by Spock in silent companionship was peaceful, surprisingly enough, filling Kirk with a sense of well-being. As he temporarily (and secretly) basked in his First Officer's body heat, Jim suddenly remembered something from his Xenobiology class, and jumped to his feet. Only Spock's inhuman reflexes stopped his chair from toppling to the floor, but the captain didn't pause to see the catch, which he surely would have appreciated for its sheer coolness.

"Captain, may I inquire as to what prompted this illogical display and why you are altering the temperature settings in the room when it is only .3% probable that you are uncomfortable?"

Spock settled the chair firmly to the floor and looked over to the man who was suddenly on the other side of the room, but then he was still, waiting for an answer. Jim finished with the controls and recrossed the room with unhurried steps; he was considering something startling, something he should have seen sooner. His hip touched the corner of the desk, and he leaned into it, his arms folded over his chest.

"So Mr. Spock, it just occurred to me that Vulcan has a much warmer climate than the average one of Earth. More akin to one of our deserts really. To answer your question, for someone accustomed to heat and with a much higher body temperature – namely you – it would, in fact, be uncomfortable in here." Jim paused. "Actually, it would be uncomfortable everywhere on the ship." He fingered his lip absently; Spock didn't exactly break his statue state, but his eyes followed the digit for a moment. _Weird_. Now that Kirk thought about it, Spock did kind of look at his hands a lot. Maybe Vulcans had a thing about hands. He really did need to brush up on his Xenobiology. Genius or not, he hadn't paid attention in class, and therefore found his knowledge was lacking. He hated not knowing relevant information. If only he'd known he would actually make it to captaincy, he would have certainly attended classes more often.

"Hmmm…I think we could reset the control temperature a few degrees higher. Maybe two or three. I don't know, I'll have to check with the science departments about experiment conditions and get with the other non-Terran crewmembers to figure out their temp preferences. I know it's not much, but would it make you more comfortable? You are cold right?"

Spock blinked.

"The ambient temperature of the ship is measurably cooler than that of Vulcan."

"Yep, you're cold. Probably partially frozen all day. Maybe that's why you've got such a stick up your ass usually."

He grinned angelically, but it slid out of place quickly as Spock regarded him.

"Fascinating."

It was more breathed than spoken, wisps of sound on the air. Jim wasn't sure that it had even been a voluntary utterance or one that he was supposed to hear.

Their gazes locked.

Brown eyes intently searched his own blue gaze, and Jim felt foggy. There were secrets there, guarded, but open too. Things he seemed to half remember. Light in an icy cave and searing memories pouring into his mind. He had stayed alert with the other Spock, but with this one, even without a touch on his face, he was losing himself. It was the transporter room all over.

Spock blinked again.

Jim was free. He couldn't decide whether to be relieved or disappointed.

_Vulcans probably have mystical eye powers too,_ he thought wryly. _Really, I do need to dig up that class file_.

"We will discuss your erroneous perception of me at another time. Presently, Captain, the erstwhile Leo Walsh must be addressed."

And there he was, being all First Officer and reminding Jim of his duties _again_. As if he hadn't provided the distraction in the first place with his body heat. _Oh well, at least he was, uh, cordial about it this time, I guess. Plus, he said we'd talk later. He doesn't outright lie._ Kirk decided to accept it as progress.

"Of course Mr. Spock. Drub up the usual suspects for a round table. Conference Room Four in 15 minutes for debriefing?"

Spock nodded.

"The room is already clear. I anticipated you and had it prepared for a command meeting."

Smug Mode: Engaged.

White teeth gleamed.

"I'm that easy to read, huh? I'd watch out for assuming if I was you. You know what they say about that."

"Indeed, I am not aware of imprecise colloquialisms often employed by Terrans."

"You can't fool me Spock. You were a linguistics professor. I think you know the ins-and-outs of every Federation language there is and more besides."

Seemingly of its own accord, the Vulcan's eyebrow rose.

"And you are not what you would have others believe you to be."

Jim was still trying to work out that cryptic comment when Spock rose and went to the door.

"Briefing in 15, Captain; we will meet you there."

He exited, motions crisp. Jim looked at the door that hid his retreating form.

Fucking Vulcan. He was driving him crazy even when he _wasn't_ being an asshole.

* * *

**Ohmigoodness, I published this and then realized I hadn't written one of these! **

**I really want to thank everyone who read/reviewed/alerted my work or any combination thereof. That goes for Observation Deck too. I've been a swelled up like a bullfrog with all the feedback. Thanks!**


	4. Chapter 4

The lights didn't shine harshly in Conference Room Four as they did in all the other ones. For which he was grateful. Kirk was rather photosensitive, having developed nearly nocturnal habits at the Academy.

And since the captain liked to be comfortable when he talked to his command team, they often met in the dim room.

"For fuck's sake Jim, it's like a vampire den in here. How do you expect us to have serious discussions in a crypt?"

Ah, he could always count on McCoy for calling him out. And for being morbid.

The older, dark haired doctor was treated to Kirk's sweetest expression – the one he knew could drive sane men to attempt murder.

"Bones, I know it's hard having that crippling fear of the dark, but let's not overreact. It isn't any darker here than anywhere else on the ship."

"Your statement is incorrect Captain. Luminous intensity in this room is 3.0761 Iv less that of any other conference area. It is my hypothesis that you favor holding briefings in here because of it."

Spock, of course, could be counted on to ruin his stratagems. And to be uppity about it.

A throaty chuckle told Jim that his CMO believed himself winner of this round.

"I'll let you slide this time without a proper acknowledgment of defeat. Though I do owe the goblin some thanks."

"I do not desire your praise, Dr. McCoy; I desire your silence."

Now the chuckle belonged to Jim as he watched the two glaringly regard each other across the round table. Well, McCoy glared. Spock was stone. They were like oil and water, with Bones a boiling froth and Spock a slick surface atop it tossed by the waves, but never ruffled.

However, briefing had to commence, amusing though the stand-off was. The dilithium crystals weren't going to last forever and something had to be done with Mudd.

"Lovely as this is gentleman, we need to get started." His eyes swept the table clockwise, a cursory check. "I see all of us are her- where's my Communications Officer?"

Jim fixed narrowed eyes on Spock. It wouldn't be the first time Uhura flirted with disrespect, though she'd never before just not shown up to a command meeting; she did take her position seriously.

"You told her to be here, right?"

Spock slightly shifted in his seat, a sure sign of unease. Kirk's eyes tightened further.

"It was my duty to do so."

"You're not the Sphinx, Mr. Spock. Yes or no?"

Spock opened his mouth to reply, but was spared by Lt. Nyota Uhura bursting through the door. Well, an automatic door's closest facsimile to bursting.

Her eyes blazed and her typically cool demeanor was replaced by burningly angry one.

"Sorry to be late, Cad-Captain Kirk. I was looking into sudden cases of babbling crew members. I can't have communications breaking off today _too_."

A fierce look directed to his right punctuated her words; he didn't have to turn his head to know Spock was on the receiving end of it. Jim almost winced in sympathy, but luckily, he remembered how the First Officer had just sold him out to Bones and held himself in check. Though his curiosity was piqued as to why Uhura was so upset and what her romantic partner had to do with it.

He pushed the questions beginning to surface back into his mental depths. First, the briefing.

"Have a seat Lieutenant; you can inform us in your department report."

The still angrily parted lips clamped together and stiffly she sat down in her customary chair next to Spock. Her body remained tense, perched on the side of her seat furthest from him. For his part, the Vulcan looked unmoved, except for his eyes, which remained downcast.

_Ooohhh, He must have seriously fucked up. I wonder… Focus. Meeting first, Spock interrogation later._ Kirk cleared imaginary blockage from his throat, and hurriedly manipulated the flat table-top screen to display Mudd's information.

"Ahem. It appears that we have a career conman aboard, Harcourt Fenton Mudd. He has with him three women, none of whom are listed in Starfleet records, for crimes or space-flight clearance, so either they've never been there or they've been erased. I don't know what exactly Mudd's doing with those women, but considering his criminal history, I'd say it involves money. Some sort of get-quick-rich pyramid scheme. Mudd doesn't have a history of life-form trafficking, and the women are a little…old for it, but then again, they are…uh…exceptional… and its pretty lucrative, so I wouldn't rule it out."

Kirk waited, taking in the command crew's faces, which ranged from dreamy to disgusted. Disgust he understood. It was the dreamy that perturbed him. But then Mudd's crew flashed in his memory.

In that flash, Jim formed a hypothesis – the dreamy faces had received a dosage of the women. Which only worried him further because it was strange that the effect of their beauty was still so strong that it could combat the Enterprisians' loathing of traffickers; life-form trafficking and illegal slavery were the most abhorrent practices they'd had to combat thus far. The whole crew had been shaken by that one ring on Tygel 4 they broke up last month. The fact that some of his commanding officers could hear it suggested as a probability and still have moony faces made the women seem preternatural. The captain mentally noted that Bones should get a tricorder scan on them to see if they were previously encountered beings or some new entity altogether.

Jim felt eyes on him, ending his musings. It made his skin prickle, like sudden step from his family's warm farmhouse into the Iowa winter. He was used to being looked at, watched. The feeling of eyes never gave him pause. But these eyes were different. The burned, not with anger like Uhura's, but with something else. Something magnetic. His own eyes were dragged to meet those of the watcher.

Spock. Breaking Jim's thoughts and calling him back to the meeting just by looking at him.

It was absurd.

Jim couldn't suppress a spark of irritation at his new weakness and it helped him tear away from the dark gaze.

_Seriously, how many times is he going to catch me like that today?_

From his left, Bones stared up at him suspiciously. His friend didn't usually get caught up in thought when he was acting the captain, but when Jim did, it was nearly impossible to bust him from his mind's rabbit holes- warrens of tunnels full of information and connections his own brain could never hold. (Not that Bones thought himself stupid; he just recognized Jim's brilliance) Something in the room must have been pretty compelling to end it. Or someone…He looked around, but didn't see too many likely suspects. Nevertheless, it was something to watch out for – you never knew with Jim.

The captain sat quickly, like a marionette with carelessly cut strings.

"Scotty. Engineering report."

The Scottsman stood and reported the outlook for the dilithium crystals. It wasn't good. The capabilities of the second damaged one were draining fast and the whole one couldn't last long without its brothers. Kirk felt a headache brewing.

"Mr. Spock. Science report."

The elegant man fluidly rose from his seat, unfolding his body to its full height. Jim looked up at him, watching his movements, but carefully avoiding his eyes.

Uhura looked up too, painfully, seemingly against her will, as though it was a reflex ingrained.

Jim realized it probably was a reflex; Spock's presence commanded attention whether the audience wished to give it or not. He knew he certainly felt the same compulsion.

What he didn't know was why it seemed to hurt her. Kirk had felt bad for Spock when Uhura came in furious, but it had been in more of a friendly, watch-out-your-girl's-pissed kind of way. Now, looking at the Communication's Officer he felt sympathy in a profound, abstract way.

Jim had long ago accepted that the beautiful Nyota Uhura would never be his and they weren't exactly friends, but seeing the expression on her face as she looked at Spock – like he something great, something she wanted so badly, but couldn't have, like he was a paradigm of perfection who was untouchable though he dwelt among them – he empathized with her.

It was a sentiment he too felt when he came up against Spock's walls. Though his was probably a mere shade of Uhura's pain, since Jim just wanted friendship and she was looking for love.

His thoughts whispered treacherous things about Spock's eyes and his lean body and his strong features and how his very being called to Jim, but he squashed them ruthlessly. _Friendship_ he told himself firmly. It wouldn't do any good wanting what could not be. He smiled wryly inside. It seemed both he and Uhura would be unsatisfied.

"I have formulated a plan Captain, after careful consideration and computation. It is statistically our best option, though I feel obliged to convey its limited chances of success, a ratio of 705, 637 to 1."

Spock glanced at Kirk, who nodded, an invitation to continue.

"We could channel the damaged crystal's remaining power into beaming a party to Rygell 12 to negotiate for new dilithium crystals from the mining settlement. The whole crystal will be able to keep the ship in orbit for eight hours, during which time we will be able to acquire crystals and the party can be beamed back aboard with the cargo. I will give the calculations to Mr. Scott; however, it must be stressed that the margin for error is slim, I cannot guarant-"

Jim waved his hand impatiently.

"But this is the idea you came up with; the best one you said. Then that's good enough for me. I trust you Mr. Spock."

The First Officer blinked unnecessarily. Jim interpreted it to be a shout of surprise. He grinned.

"Don't be shocked Spock. I did request you after all. Couldn't have my second being someone I didn't already respect."

"Indeed." The Vulcan's voice was a little rough. Spock retook his seat eyebrow slightly elevated. Kirk grinned wider. "Communications report Uhura."

She uncoiled like a spring, snapping upright. Her voice was carefully modulated, but emotions still stirred beneath the surface calm. Jim was growing more curious about her anger's cause by the minute as her deceptively melodic voice washed over him, but made his brain focus on her information. Apparently they were having trouble contacting the mining settlement, since the planet's atmosphere created interference and there were several mysterious cases of crewmembers losing the powers of speech or babbling incoherently. He barely suppressed a smile at that as she concluded.

"If you go meet our passengers, you'll understand clear enough Lieutenant."

Uhura looked at him with quizzical exasperation, but sat silently.

One by one he called on the other department heads. Security stated Mudd and his crew were quiet, though the man repeatedly attempted to ingratiate himself with his guards. The other departments reported little on their fronts except for hampered functionality by lack of power, which they hoped would be fixed soon.

All the information amassed, Jim handed out assignments. Bones was to scan the women. Uhura was to keep working through the interference. Scotty and Spock were to work on the crystal dilemma. Giotto would keep guards circulating so no chumminess occurred and to keep a sharp eye for escape attempts. Kirk would start preparing for Mudd's impromptu hearing.

Meeting adjourned, the officers dispersed to their specific duties.

When they rose, Spock turned to Uhura, as though he wished to speak, but she stalked from the room at a fast clip. He stood still looking forlornly after her, betrayed by a tightness in his jaw. Jim came to his First's side and clapped his shoulder.

"She'll simmer down. Don't worry about it."

Spock blinked again and stiffened. Two shouts in one hour. He was getting nakedly expressive.

"Vulcans do not worry; it is illogical."

He shrugged off Jim's hand and walked from the room. The captain sighed.

One step forward and two steps back. Luckily, James Tiberius Kirk enjoyed a challenge.

* * *

**Hello! **

**Thanks again for reading and I hope you enjoy it.**

**I never wanted to racket for reviews, but I would really like to know what you think, so if you have time, I'd like to hear from you. **

**It would be much appreciated :]**


	5. Chapter 5

The sound of his light footfalls echoed louder than usual in the empty hall. Jim had a bouncing step, more like a lunging from the balls of his feet, than a walk. He always seemed to be barely restraining his energy, constantly perched on the cusp of flight. Whistling absently as he walked along, Kirk nodded in automatic greeting to passing crewmembers, wrapped up in thought.

Lingering in his mind was the briefing, and his increasingly sharp awareness of Spock. Kirk had always been conscious of him, and even underneath his usual annoyance with the First Officer's brusque manner, enjoyed his presence.

But this was different. If Jim was being honest with himself (which was not one of his many strong suits) it was different from nearly the start.

The way his heart dropped when he saw Spock and Uhura kiss on the transporter pad for the first time was a distinctly uncomfortable memory for him; although he was then smitten with the amazing, lovely, keen-witted woman, his disappointment was sharper in knowing that the impregnable Spock was already infiltrated by another. A swift jealousy that he was not the one breaching his defenses had spiked in him.

Really, from the time the man stood at his hearing, all pointed ears and black grace, Kirk found him scintillating. Their service together had only rendered him more so.

This whole incident was forcing him to see things he'd been hiding from himself for nearly a year.

Sure, he said he was all about gaining friendship, but what he felt for the enigmatic, blade-like Vulcan – the driving need, the unslakable thirst – wasn't anything similar to how he felt about Bones, the truest, maybe only, friend he'd ever had, or even Hikaru Sulu, his ace pilot and sometimes drinking buddy.

The feelings were a beast of another nature entirely; a sleek sexy creature with shimmering skin that emanated danger rather than a warm, comfortable, ambling one wrapped in fur.

At this thought, an image sprang unbidden to his mind. The captain's bright head shook, as though he hoped the physical action would dislodge the picture of Spock with oiled skin wrestling a bear-suit clad McCoy that had taken up residence there.

Instead, seemingly encouraged by the motion, the scenario became more lurid, growing to involve an old style Terran boxing ring, complete with dinging bells and fans screaming for the fighters to do ridiculous things, like hit each other with chairs.

Jim couldn't help but to laugh aloud while imagining what role each bridge crew member would play in the match; Chekov as a ringside girl was hilarious, though he didn't know that Sulu would take too kindly to his little friend receiving catcalls. Which actually only made it better. Sulu would definitely have to be a bouncer hovering around Chekov, dressed in a douchey, too-tight-tee with man jewelry.

As the list went on, Kirk's undignified giggles made it hard for him to key in his room's password, but eventually he managed. The door shot open.

Still amused, he stepped across the relatively small space to his desk. Looking at the two chairs that sat there companionably from Spock's earlier stay diluted his effervescence.

Softly, he trailed his fingers over the back of the chair where the hot (in more ways than one) Vulcan had been. His wistful desire for some vestige of his First's body heat to still cling there, proving that he really had existed in Jim's quarters, sounded pathetic to his own inner thoughts. Seriously, what was coming over him? Jim T. Kirk did not do wistful.

"I could come over there if it would make you happier."

Pulse pounding and adrenaline starting to pump into his system, Jim pivoted in one sharp motion. There wasn't supposed to be anyone in his room. Only he had the code, and Engineering wouldn't manually override for anyone. Shifting his weight, the captain crouched low in a defensive stance. He looked at his would be assailant.

The attacker did not turn out to be a hulking alien or Federation rebel with a grudge, though he would have been less surprised if that were the case. Instead, his eyes were met head on by the full glory of Mudd's beautiful blonde "crewmember."

She was stretched across his bed on her side facing him, lounging as though among sumptuous pillows, like she was a queen from a Renaissance painting.

Certainly she had dressed the part; her middle parted hair shone in the harsh ship lighting and hung in touchable disarray over her creamy shoulders, its golden hue reminding Jim of the shining sun and the warm sand of the beach by the Academy.

Her top leg curved forward, exposing her milky, sculpted thigh.

Her dress (if it really could be called a dress) was of an indeterminate color – maybe purple, or grey, or perhaps even blue – that flattered her coloring and skimmed her body – not tight, but still revealing – with a single closure at her waist that seemed in danger of coming undone. It was completely transparent in the light, nothing hidden.

Her beauty was such that even in ordinary circumstances, it would literally steal the breath of most men. And here she was intent on all out seduction, already on the captain's bed, already (mostly) undressed.

Jim found that not only could he breathe, but he could also be angry. He did not move from the crouch, keeping his guard up.

A woman that stunning, that perfect, was not possible. Something was off about it. Wrong. She sat up, satin skin gliding over his rough regulation sheets.

"Is something the matter Captain Kirk? I hope you don't mind me. I was just so weary of all the men looking at me that I had to hide. This was a good _private_ place."

Her voice was a heady cocktail of seduction, innocence, and purring. A lesser man might have given in to the promise of the word _private_…

"I apologize Miss McHuron - I believe that's what Mudd said your name was - if my crew has upset you. However, these are my quarters, and I do mind you being here. Very much so. Additionally, you could have only gotten in if you were aided by an Engineering officer in performing manual override."

Jim, on the other hand, called her bullshit.

Being beautiful himself, he knew what it was to use his looks as a tool and he could recognize when others did the same. Kirk was in no mood for him or his crew to be used.

It was funny how seeing her again was completely different. His senses weren't dulled. He wasn't distracted by her glamour. This was his ship, these were his quarters. If he couldn't control one, how could he control the other?

Besides, no one came here without invitation, except his tittering yeoman, Rand, and Bones. And the only invitation he'd ever given was to Spock. Who came infrequently, only four times since the start of their journey and only for ship business, but still, it counted.

So many things had been taken from him in his life – his autonomy over his own rooms and his sexual choices was not going to be next. Evie McHuron was not bedazzling Jim into bed for any purpose today.

She looked at the captain full mouth agape, expression fishlike. It was still lovely of course, but Jim also found it humorous. She'd probably never before been resisted. He eyed her with the appreciation of an art collector; truly an amazing specimen, but he didn't feel the draw to her he had earlier.

Then there came a buzz from the door. A familiar clipped tone over the intercom.

"Captain, it is I, Spock. The calculations are complete for your review."

He watched the woman warily as he pressed the intercom button to respond.

"Certainly, Mr. Spock. Have I got a surprise in here for you."

Jim pressed the button on his desk's control panel to open the door. Quicker than lightning, Evie came across the floor and flung herself around the captain with startling strength. As the door opened fully, revealing Spock, she pressed her lips to Jim's unwilling ones.

Spock looked. He blinked.

Kirk pushed Evie from him.

_Shit, shit, shit, _was all his panicked mind could supply.

* * *

**Thank you for reading and I would love to hear from you, no matter how short. **

******Because, seriously, who among us doesn't love crazy stalker types who think they're totally normal?**  



	6. Chapter 6

Time became still, brittle. It seemed to Jim that he was stuck in a horribly unfunny tableau.

Evie glared beautifully from a pace away.

Spock stared from the door.

Jim stood motionless, feeling stupid.

God, he ought to do something. Something to break this strange, heavy tension. But he couldn't - couldn't think of what to do, what to say - so he just stayed put.

In real time, outside of Jim's hyperslowed brain, the silence only lasted about five seconds before Spock, usually the least likely to begin a conversation, broke it.

"I presume that this is not the 'surprise' you mentioned previously Captain?"

He stepped decisively into the room, hands clasped primly behind his back. The dark gaze slid over the woman as though she were inconsequential – a piece of furniture for all it cared – and sharpened when it came to rest on Jim.

"Uhgh, hell no it isn't the surprise. Well…uh… she is, but not the kissing. Definitely not any kissing. Dunno what the fuck she was doing."

Kirk gave Evie a beautiful glare of his own. She looked very much like she wanted to stick her tongue out at him. Obviously, she had a very mature nature.

Spock gave a microscopic nod, seemingly satisfied, and walked toward the captain, stopping an arm's length away.

"Your egregious language aside, it would, indeed, prove most interesting to learn what her purpose and motive was in coming here. I hypothesize that you did not allow her entry and she coerced Engineering staff to override your code?"

Jim's head rose and fell in accordance with the expectant tone.

"Right again, Mr. Spock. You're quite good with the deductions. Ever read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle by any chance?"

"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. A tenet I live by, sir."

Happiness was a swelling balloon in Jim's chest. Spock was still speaking to him.

Moreover, he didn't seem to think Kirk was a disgusting bit of filth from the bottom of his shoe, as the captain feared he would. Jim wasn't deaf or dumb – he knew that his reputation for promiscuity preceded him, even if it was _mostly_ undeserved, and that it colored others' opinions of his actions, especially those regarding women.

He was ridiculously pleased that Spock stood there, talking to him normally, and believing in him without Jim needing to say anything. _A relationship that will define you both._ At times like this, Jim didn't feel like a sucker for trusting the Alterna-Spock.

He grinned goofily. Spock's eyes gleamed back.

A strangled noise came from the woman's direction. The wide smile that split Jim's face narrowed somewhat. _Shit_. He'd forgotten all about her, wondrous creature though she was.

She made the noise again; Jim realized it was laughter. Unhinged sounding laughter.

The men looked at her and Spock edged imperceptibly closer to his superior officer. Well, it would have been imperceptible to anyone one else, but with his tingling Spock-Sense, Jim noticed it. His waning smile threatened to wax anew.

_Focus, the woman. God. It was sooo hard to send his concentration elsewhere when Spock was right beside him._

Confident that she finally held their attention, Evie gave Jim a dismissive look of disgust and rounded on Spock.

"Mudd said that Vulcans can only be affected by beauty if they want to be. It seems _I'm_ too late for you."

Her disdainful eyes flicked up and down the First Officer's form. Her voice was acidic with haughty confusion.

"I don't understand. You're not much. He shouldn't be able to resist me at all, you know."

Spock stiffened.

Jim was tired of a conversation he only halfway understood and he was pretty sure Evie had just insulted Spock's looks, which were above reproach so far as he was concerned.

_Humph, the nerve of some people. Saying Spock wasn't much. What a blind woman – couldn't she see that Spock was everything?_

"That is quiet enough, Miss McHuron."

His voice was soft menace, and her mouth closed with an audible snap.

Yeah, Jim wouldn't want to fuck with him either when he broke out that tone. She really shouldn't have antagonized Spock.

Jim pressed a button on his desk and kept talking, "Security is on their way up now. They'll escort you to your hearing, where you can reunite with your boss and let him know whatever you're cooking up isn't going to work."

Her cheeks blossomed rose, indicating the truth in of his words. Clearly, she was not very versed in subterfuge – a true player would have had a better plan and poker-face. So what was she then?

Jim watched her with a hawk-like intensity, pondering the question as they waited. Spock stood idly by, absently inspecting Jim's control panel, but somehow still managing to emanate threat. They were quite an intimidating pair, if Jim did say so himself, and Evie seemed relieved to be transferred to the custody of Security Officers – which was saying something since the Security Department attracted the rougher characters in Starfleet.

When Evie had been taken away (with strict orders to the Security detail to deliver her without delay), Spock remained. He looked at Jim.

"Again, I presume that you were not afforded time to prepare for the proceedings. For the sake of efficiency, may I offer you my assistance?"

"Are you saying you don't think I can do it in time?"

Jim suddenly felt a little defensive, like maybe Spock was sliding back into his disbelieving ways.

"No, Captain, merely that, to use a proverbial expression, we could 'kill two birds with a single stone,' if I aid in the report research and you look over the crystal calculations."

Okay, he had to admit that sentence was ridiculously cute.

Holy shit. Did he just think the word _cute_? In relation to a Starfleet officer?

Fuck it. Whatever. He should probably just resign himself to thinking un-James Kirk-like things around the Vulcan.

Jim's mouth crooked upward at the left corner. Resignation didn't have to be painful. In fact, a captain could probably grow to like it if it meant hearing Spock say un-Spock-y things too.

He cracked his stiff fingers and took his seat at the desk. His hand patted the chair next to him, the place that he would forever think of as Spock's.

"So long as you aren't still doubting me, let's get to bird killing."

"Indeed," Spock said with a raised eyebrow as he sat.

It was hard for Jim to stop a sound of contentment from escaping his unruly throat. When Spock was at his side, it felt like home. Like belonging.

Now, he just needed to find a way to keep him there.

Well that and to take care of a career criminal, and to save his ship, and a ton of other things, but Jim was nothing if not an excellent multitasker.

* * *

**I like the idea of them having assigned chairs, like how grandparents have chairs that they sit in together every night. Yeah, I imagine Kirk and Spock totally set up by a fireplace with a grandpa recliner and a grandma rocking chair. You can decide who gets which and tell me in your review...**

**I'm so brazen. :0**

**Thank you for reading and I would love to hear what you think!**


	7. Chapter 7

"Jim. Get your ass up here. We've got a problem."

Startled from his concentration, Kirk popped his head up to look at the box from which Bones' voice had just issued.

Jesus. Why couldn't he ever finish one thing without another crisis brewing?

Ever since he took on the Enterprise, he'd been feeling like he was trapped in a never-ending game of Whack-a-Mole, something he used to play in his town's truly ancient arcade as a kid. Honestly, it was sometimes hard to tell whether he was the one whacking away at the problems or if life was hitting him. It could get overwhelming.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was the captain. He could handle it; after all, he did beat the shit out of those moles eventually.

Reaffirmed, his eyes slid over to Spock, who hadn't paused in his work. The calculations it would take to prep the ship for transport were even trickier than Jim had initially supposed and he was impressed all over again by Spock's secretly devious mind.

Oh, he knew that if he told Spock that he was creative as fuck the Vulcan would protest that he only followed rational lines of thought, but Jim knew better.

He was a computer prodigy and it had taken him some time to infiltrate the Kobayashi Maru and even then, when Spock was just the system's faceless generator, he was awed by the man. Truly, Spock's skill was such that it surpassed mere programming – he was an artist, creating his works on canvases of code.

Jim longed to know all about the emotional core that could render such beautiful, clever works.

One of his greatest frustrations was not knowing if he ever would. It was true that they were getting more comfortable with each other, but he was still so far out of reach. An ice surface hiding the currents underneath. Breath escaped him in a sigh.

"Is something the matter Captain?" Spock asked without looking at him (or so Jim thought since he missed the gleam of dark irises as they darted up from the computer).

"No, not exactly, just thinking about alternatives."

Green hands stilled, as good as a shout of surprise. "Alternatives, sir?"

Why did Spock's voice sound all funny? Squelched almost. Weird.

"Yeah, alternative lifestyles, things I could have done. Whack-a-mole. You know, that sort of thing."

"I see." The hands resumed motion and something in the air relaxed.

Strange, Jim hadn't even noticed the tension until it was gone. Yet another thing to look into he supposed.

Spock spoke again, voice now regular, if not downright teasing. "While I too carefully consider all options open to me, the 'whacking' of moles has yet to appear as a viable course Captain."

Was it ridiculous that Jim was finding the way his First Officer's mouth stretched over the world "Captain" hotter and hotter every time he said it? And that he was already thinking up ways to get Spock to say "whack" again?

It was official; he was destined for dirty-minded hell.

"Oh, I don't know about that Mr. Spock. Whacking has a certain therapeutic quality, don't you agree?"

A face carefully blank of all comprehension greeted his assertion. Jim almost winced at the statue who had replaced his First.

"You know what, never mind. I'm going to go deal with whatever Bones' freak-show is. Coming?"

Oh god, twice in less than a minute. Even when he was trying to be good. What was he, twelve?

If he had been human, Spock's eyes would have rolled. As it was, he was Vulcan, so they just sort of twitched upward instead.

He stood smoothly, and stepped to the door, saying in passing, "I suppose I shall accompany you, since left to your own devices, you would likely, as Terrans say, find a way to_ blow_ everything."

Kirk's brain fried and rebooted in the space of a heartbeat. A dirty joke? From Mr. I-Am-Vulcan?

Granted, a kind of lame one, but still...sexy. Fuck yeah, he longed to get under that hard-lacquered exterior. It was becoming almost ridiculous how much he thought about it.

Jim started out after Spock, who was already out in the corridor.

"Hey, I am selective with my blowing, thank you very much. Not just anything deserves to be screwed royally."

Spock didn't even acknowledge that he heard his captain, but he did slow his pace so that Jim could catch up to him.

A passing yeoman eyed them suspiciously. There was always crew talk about that screaming sexual tension which followed them around, though funnily enough, they both seemed oblivious to it. THe gossip and the tension that is.

Hmmm...Maybe they weren't so oblivious as they seemed, if they were discussing sexual terms when in the captain's private quarters.

She thought about it and decided to quickly contact her betting pool. She was _so_ upping her ante on them getting together.

A wicked smile broke across her lips. All the better to rub it in that insufferable Rand's face, when she finally saw that the captain would never be hers.

No matter if he complimented her sheet tucking skills that one time. Or noticed her new hair do. For Christ's sake her head looked like a basket, anyone would notice.

Sheesh, that was hardly a declaration of love anyway.

The yeoman continued on, full of anticipation for sharing her latest findings.

Unaware of their assessment and subsequent causal of a sharp spike in the exchange of betting pool credits, Jim and Spock hurried up to Med Bay, where Bones and the latest calamity waited impatiently.

* * *

**I often times ask myself what other subjects Enterprisians would bet on, other than Jim and Spock. Perhaps Sulu and Checkov? Jim's likelihood of getting hurt? Bones' likelihood of killing him first?**

**What do you think? I'd love to hear in your review. :)**

**P.S. , sorry for so long between updates, school has been busier than I expected. Thank you for reading and sticking with me!**


	8. Chapter 8

The Sickbay door swished open, revealing a harried looking McCoy barking orders to his staff, who in turn looked quite nervous. He hadn't noticed his visitors yet.

Great, just great. Bones was clearly pissed. Which never turned out well for his self-proclaimed best friend.

The base of Jim's neck started up a familiar twinge – phantom hypo syndrome. He should probably get out now before the premonition became reality.

"So, uh, Spock, it seems like everything's under control here –"

He was interrupted by a large crash as one of the newest crewmembers dropped a pile of PADDs and McCoy swore loudly.

"Mostly under control. I should probably go make sure the calculations are being entered properly and set up for that hearing. You can listen to what Bones has to say and report back right?"

Spock regarded him for a long moment as precious seconds ticked by. The doctor would realize they were here any second. Didn't his FO see that escape was now or never?

Just as Jim began to feel sweat beading up on his skin, Spock finally spoke, "While I am more than capable, Captain, I believe the man passing himself off as a Doctor would be most displeased for you to elude him, especially with my assistance."

"Well, color me shocked, the goblin is capable of understanding people."

The captain jumped at the unexpected sound of a Southern twang.

Shit. Game over.

"Jim, quit trying to wriggle out of here and for Christ's sake, stop rubbing your neck. There are more important things afoot than your overdue shots. No dramatic gulping either. Follow me; you both need to see this."

Spock gave Jim what he could only describe as, "I told you so" and followed the doctor. McCoy and Spock briskly moved through the chaos to the records station with Kirk trailing grumpily behind.

God, Bones didn't _always_ have to act like he was little kid.

"Stop sulking. I need big-boy Jim to look at these."

He stuck his tongue out at his CMO, but intrigued despite himself, Kirk grabbed one of the patient forms that Spock was already browsing. The doctor waited while they examined the data.

Jim was confused. According to the pre-filled section, this was the result of a human female's scan, but the readings were like none he had ever before seen.

He whistled softly, "Tox levels are damn near off the chart. Whoever this is ought to be dead twice over. And what's up with these weird hormone productions? And the pheromone concentration in the blood stream?"

As he said the word pheromone aloud, it hit him. "Bones, are these the scans I ordered from Mudd's women? I knew there was something off about them. What the hell are they?"

Bones looked grim. "I just don't know Jim. I've run it with all the diseases we have, but nothing matches, and despite all the toxins, they're in perfect health. I thought you or the walking green computer might have some ideas."

"Doctor, have you considered that it might not be a disease at all? Perhaps it is the effect of an illegal stimulant."

McCoy began to protest that he had already tried that too, but Kirk was no longer listening.

At Spock's suggestion, Jim's mind flashed back to something Gaila had told him about, what seemed like another lifetime ago, and everything made sense.

* * *

Mudd had had just about enough of the women's moaning and groaning. What feather brains. Couldn't they just shut up and learn the value of patience?

"You're not getting anymore until she comes back. I need you all dosed at the same time, so stow it already."

The only one of the three with even a lick of sense was Evie. Even though she had come up with this stupid plan. And even though he doubted that he trusted her as far as he could throw her ridiculously perfect body.

A body that she had been determined to thrown down quite enticingly, he had to admit to himself. Not that he ever sampled the cargo.

No, he had found that it always paid to deliver the goods untouched, though sometimes it was hard to hold true to that philosophy.

It helped when he was tempted, to remember the times like this, when they were in between hits, and looked like the average to below average women that they were, with lined skin, dull hair, and blemished bodies.

Looking at the two huddled forms, he considered the same questions he always did when he thought about his new business.

Funny how the drug only worked on Terran females. He wondered for the umpteenth time how many more credits he would rake in if only he could expand his operation to other species. Hmmm….maybe he should start up testing again.

He idly contemplated his plans (both for the future and this particular venture) as he listened to the two women's soft complaints. He didn't really think that Evie would be successful, but she had been insistent upon trying. The silly girl thought that maybe the dashing captain would take a liking to her, and she wouldn't have to fulfill her contract.

Maybe she even fancied that she could get to be some kind of hero in bringing him down.

He snorted derisively.

Mudd had learned from long experience that sometimes the best way to make someone more cooperative was to let them destroy themselves, so he had signed off on Evie's harebrained scheme. He reasoned that if it did succeed, which was highly unlikely, he would get what he wanted – safe passage to his drop off point and the freedom to disappear after the deal.

And if it didn't, well, he'd have the bonus of a docile Evie and he'd still use his fall back plan.

Oh yes, Harry Mudd was no milksop; he always got his way.

Presently, the barred door opened and a group of red shirted lackeys unceremoniously tossed the disheveled and disgruntled Evie into their holding cell. She glared after them, looking suspiciously haggard, and whirled around to face the laughing Mudd.

"Vulcan crash your party?"

She didn't respond, but her reddened cheeks answered for her.

"I told you it wouldn't work. Someone deeply in love will be able to fight off the drug's effect."

The woman still said nothing. Mudd saw that she was refusing to be goaded, and wisely let the matter drop. It was really for the best; now she wouldn't be so damn smug.

He turned back to the other waiting women, who had been silently watching the scene unfold. If only they had been so quiet an hour ago. He sighed.

Females. Can't live with 'em, can't live without the wealth they would bring him.

Making sure his back was to the camera, he passed each woman a small green pill, which they swallowed eagerly, if somewhat resentfully in Evie's case.

"Now ladies, it's time for the real show."

He smiled at the trio of goddesses who were once again before him and headed to the door.

"Oi! Guards! I got a crazy sick lass in here. We need help!"

The poor fellow who came to check never stood a chance.

That was the power of Venus.

* * *

**It feels good to be on this writing roll. But it can only be sustained by the epic power of reviews...**

**I know, I'm so demanding.**

**Thanks for reading and I really will be trying to update more frequently. :)**


	9. Chapter 9

Ensign Channing realized that he should by this point in their mission probably be used to his command crew, even if they were some of the most famous members of Starfleet and, you know, heroic, bad-ass world savers.

He did see them all the time, after all. They weren't the kind of officers to command from afar or spend all of their off shifts in their own feted company. He was sure that they knew every crew member's name and had spoken with all of them. Personally, he'd talked to them all at least once.

Pretty much, they weren't like any other officers he had ever known, which granted, weren't very many, but still, he'd polled his other friends in the service and they had all agreed that their behavior was out-of-the-ordinary. According to his polls, it seemed like _everything_ aboard the USS Enterprise was out of the ordinary.

The Chief Engineer had a fondness for sandwiches and had anthropomorphized the ship.

The Chief Medical Officer could cuss the air blue and produced miracles with regularity.

The Chief Communications Officer (his personal commander) had a velvet tongue that could charm and cut with equal measure and little warning.

The Science Officer and First Officer was, quite frankly, one of the scariest beings he had ever interacted with, but the ensign had also seen him handle plants with the gentlest of touches.

The Captain was, well, the captain.

And in the current shift alone, this was the third time Ensign Channing had seen him running down the hall, the FO close at his heels. But this time, he was joined by the CMO, who was looking slightly winded, and his own Lt. Uhura, who scowled at everyone in her path.

Remembering that he was supposed to be at the communications station and not gawking, Ensign Channing scurried down the hall, hoping to escape her sharp notice.

He went quickly, shaking his head. Yeah, he should get used to them, but he still didn't think he ever would.

* * *

Uhura took note of one of her people aimlessly meandering through the halls during a time of elevated risk, but was too swept up in the captain's drama to reprimand the man presently. God, couldn't anyone be trusted around this place?

Kirk felt her irritation like a physical sensation across his back. Well, it wasn't his fault she was pissed. She was the one who saw them in the hall and demanded to come along to the holding cells, citing a need to examine the source of the mysterious babbling crewmembers.

Privately, it was his suspicion that she wanted to keep an eye on her boyfriend or remind him forcefully of her (angry) existence, but he wisely kept the thought to himself. Neither Spock nor McCoy had said anything after his revelation about the Venus drug, instead following him silently as he took off towards their detainees.

Not yet breathing heavily (because he did keep in shape – space wouldn't make him soft) he burst into the holding deck at top speed. Spock was beside him and everyone else trailed behind in a staggered line. He didn't pause to give commands, but rather roared for Security to open Cell Three for his admittance. The two officers at the control station scrambled to obey him. He did not like how it looked suspiciously understaffed down here.

Thundering up to the door, he looked through the rapidly widening opening, making a cursory visual survey of the place. What he saw beyond made him stop cold and suck in an involuntary gasp of air. His First Officer halted just behind him, near enough so that Jim could feel the heat of him, which suggested to the captain that were it not for his Vulcan reflexes, Spock would have collided with him.

Within seconds Bones and Uhura came up to them.

"What?" demanded the doctor, "You ran all the way here, and you stop now? Almost hit ya."

He stopped and looked into the cell. Kirk didn't turn to watch him, but he would have bet his next two free shifts that McCoy was a nice shade of puce.

"God damn it, Jim! What're we gonna do now?"

Yep, definitely puce.

"Doctor McCoy," Spock began in his smooth way, "naturally, the Captain will see to this matter. Most logically, we shall begin swiftly by examining the cell itself and then security footage to determine to whence the detainees have absconded."

It was sweet how Spock thought that Jim's logic would follow his own. But Spock had never been outside the law. Jim had. He knew exactly what he would do were he Harry Mudd.

"Thanks, Spock, but I've already got this. We're going to have to haul ass though."

He turned to the poorly manned booth, "Tate! X'hau! Get up a party to collect a bunch of unconscious personnel. Tell them to search the route from this deck to the Shuttle Bay. And tell the bridge to lock down the Bay. We'll be discussing how it is criminals escaped when you were supposed to be watching the monitors later." He hardened his voice at the end, letting the officers know that even in the confusion their substandard performance had been noticed.

He needed everyone performing to the best of their ability, especially in a time like this. But Kirk did not have time to dwell on it, and took off towards the deck where all of the smaller vessels aboard the Enterprise were housed.

"You think they're just going to go straight to an escape ship? What if they're hiding, planning on taking over the Enterprise?"

Despite her pissy-ness today, Uhura thought quickly, he would give her that. Her idea was not an impossible one, but rather one that Kirk found to be –

"Implausible, Lt. Uhura. Four against the entire crew would be a highly disadvantaged struggle for Harcourt Mudd. He would want to remove himself from Starfleet custody and evade capture far more than he would wish to acquire a starship, particularly this one, which he would have no hope of keeping."

Jim shot a small grin at Spock, who raised an eyebrow slightly in response.

"My thoughts exactly. He wants to make some money, not come into direct conflict with us. And the only way off the ship is with another ship."

* * *

As the group continued to run, Uhura fairly crackled with annoyance behind the captain and the first officer, but she couldn't fault their reasoning. It only made everything that much worse to watch them think and run in tandem, a perfectly matched pair in front of her.

Her earlier conversation with Spock flashed in her mind, stabbing her with every fall of her foot against the echoing floors.

"The Captain is fascinating. Do you not think so Nyota?"

The way captain always had a capital "C" when he said it.

The expression that he didn't even realize he had on his face.

Excitement.

Hope.

Love.

A way that he had never managed to look at her.

She'd known it all along, but figured that if she ignored it, it couldn't be true. He couldn't do it. Couldn't forget about her. Couldn't be giving his heart away to another.

But he was. He had been ever since that fucking academic hearing.

Everything about James T. Kirk drew his focus. His attention. His thoughts. His _emotions_.

She knew that Kirk thought that Spock didn't trust him or disliked him, with the way that he was always fighting about regulations and protocols.

Spock wouldn't have reacted that way with anyone else though. If he disagreed with his captain, his superior officer, he would have calmly addressed the issue in privacy. Just as she'd seen him do with the Xenolinguistics Dean or Christopher Pike. Instead, he blazed at Kirk, running himself to the borders of his control, fighting to be heard by the stubborn, wayward kid.

He thought about him constantly, bringing him up in conversation with Nyota – in the Mess Hall, when they played music, during private time in her rooms (never his).

Captain Kirk trampled into every corner of their time together, until it seemed to Uhura that he loomed larger in their relationship than either of them did. A titanic statue with a silly pose that planted itself between she and Spock.

Today though, when he came by her room to call her to the command meeting, he hadn't been angry or frustrated. He'd brought up the captain in a calm way, asking her that dratted question.

"Do you not think so, Nyota?"

And suddenly, she couldn't pretend anymore. Couldn't accept it with passive grace. She'd exploded, flooding out her anger with a simple statement.

"Spock, I can't be in a romantic relationship with you," she told him, her words chipped like pieces of glass.

She'd closed the door in his blinking face and then raged around the room, mad at him for not fighting for her, mad he was not pounding down the door, mad at the world for being so damn cruel, mad at the captain for his stupid fucking charisma, but mostly mad at herself.

Mad that she had pursued him so blindly in the first place, when it was clear he wasn't for her. Mad that even now, she loved him.

It was enough to make her scream. It was certainly enough to make her follow him down the halls like a silly, sick puppy dog, watching him parade around with the captain, like he hadn't just lost his first girlfriend today. Like she'd never mattered anyway.

God, she was a masochist.

* * *

They burst into the Shuttle Bay, where the alert lights were flashing and the flight doors were being sealed, but they were too late.

One of the small ships at the far corner was already gone. The one that had carried four fugitives hours before.

Kirk swore viciously, earning him a look of grudging respect from McCoy.

Done with his outburst, the captain sighed resignedly. "There's only one place for them to go with their craft in that condition. Mr. Spock, speed up those projected calculations - we're going to Rygell. Now."

* * *

**Uhura is one of those characters that just takes over my writing sometimes. I love writing from her perspective.**

**And I think it adds to the story. Now we all know why she was sooo pissed at the command meeting...**

**How about a review for my masterful handling of plot threads? ;P**

**(Modesty must pay the price when review panning is the game.)**


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